With Sadness

With much sadness I look upon the beautiful places I encounter all over the world. I look upon them with sadness when I remember Egypt and how ugly it has become. There is no comfort even in finding an inner beauty beneath this ugliness. It may have been present in times before, but now it has gone because the ugliness has penetrated us to the core.

I wish that weren't so, and perhaps that is why there is so much sadness. We could have retained some beauty, we could have been better. Now I think it's a little too late.

Moments of Travel

Moments of travel are the most nostalgic, like you haven't done enough where you were at. They make you feel as though one needed more time or perhaps desired more events to have taken place before you were to leave where you were at. It's mostly a feeling that you are parting with someone or something you've come to know; something you've experienced firsthand, something you've examined up close. No matter where you're heading, that feeling of some sort of slightly palpable but deep sorrow generates a cloud around you much like invisible vapor droplets that occasionally stimulate your skin with a sense of touch. It's this parting that I dread and which weighs on me heavily even when the destination is desirable.

Yes, even when the destination holds brilliant promises of great times and unforgettable experiences, I can feel that weight, for even with the splendor of a promise it remains lacking in one aspect when compared to reality, in that it remains unfulfilled. The smallest bit of reality can conquer the greatest promise by exploiting that weakness which all promises are fated with. It is this contrast that causes the dilemma predominantly for a materialist. For reality manifests itself through everything that can be seen, touched, heard or smelled but promises manifest themselves in the realm of imagination drawing their images from fragments of memories combined with many thoughts and mixed by brain churns that place them in their proper place inside that jigsaw puzzle offered by promises. The reality of parting is ever so present at moments of departure when you can see all you left behind and can only imagine what's ahead.

But despite the weakness that each promise possesses, it can offer something beyond reality. It can create a better version of something experienced, perhaps even a version that cannot be imagined. Certain promises rely only on faith; faith in something beyond creative imagination; faith in the limitations of human abilities; faith in experiences and words of others. Even when reality is at its best, promises combined with faith can overturn it, can change all of its sweetness and take away its bitterness. But even then how can you overcome the feeling of parting?

I guess that's the way it is with journeys, even death the journey of the greatest distance in perhaps the least amount of time. Parting is almost insurmountable and even the best of promises cannot change that. The promise of an afterlife can only rely on faith and fragmented memories of the happiest times magnified to trigger the imagination. While the imagination can take you far away places, it can fail to reflect what’s to come, offering far better alternatives to reality. Yet to wait a lifetime for a promise is a little too much, and some will choose this moment over a promise that might not be fulfilled.

Once you’ve made the journey, things start to change, when you're en route or in the air you can only attempt to focus on what's to come. You look to fulfill the yet unfulfilled promises relying on faith to turn these promises into reality. But once these promises are fulfilled, they disappear and the faith that brought them life dissipates.

Note: Written BR (Before Riyadh)

Blogging Ain't What It Used To Be

I used to post things whenever I felt like it, banal thoughts don't come as easy as they used to. I mean they do, but maybe there's pressure not to think about them anymore, or at least wait till they formulate into something bigger before sharing them. Pressure, expectations and some sort of desire to conform seem to inhibit forms of expression. The worst thing about it is that these inhibitions is that they're self imposed. I hate to admit it but I must; each blog has a sort of style, where most posts follow the same theme. It's like the design of a site, too many variations in color and you may get visual pollution (this blog has been accused of it).

Is that what happens to us when we grow up? The child feels the pressure to conform even if it doesn't come from outside? Do we sometimes stop things we enjoy doing just because they're childish rather than them ceasing to be enjoyable?

Must I make a metaphor out of everything? I write this now from Riyadh, one of the most uninspiring places in the world. It's not that it's boring like it's reputed to be, it's just that it has no potential promise of fun. There's a big difference.

That's the thing, I feel there's so much I think about that I need to write, but they're all disconnected thoughts. Part of me wants to wait until they crystalize into something meaningful, but I don't think that will ever happen; Riyadh is meaningless.

I find my thoughts scattered in words across emails... I find myself describing time in Riyadh :

The days don't pass with ease despite the virtual comforts of cars and air conditioning. It's not that they're difficult days, but it's as though time doesn't want to move forward because it has nothing to look forward to. It's not the same as time passing slowly in wait of great things ahead. Time is a little tired, with nothing to do, no rush and no patience.

There are a thousand little things like that and had I just started writing I imagine I would have took note of them. I think there are so many different things that go through my mind...

Too much freedom or too little freedom can deprive you of control. I think that we need a little bit of constraints to understand what we really want, not like the ones here in Riyadh, but something to get you to understand what you don't want at least.

They don't really matter, but I should write them anyway.